Victims Of The Rising Sun

A little boy huddle in the corner.
He cries for mother.
Where is she lost?
His name forgotten.
His name a number.
But the invaders simply call him “log”
They’re always watching
They’re always making notes
After injection his health is getting worse
He’s beg for help
His fate is foreclose
He’s slowly dying and they’re waiting for his corpse.

Stone cold eyes over dissected body
Are looking down at the beating hearth
Like vultures flying over the dying
To dart down and tear the corpse apart

Young pretty girl
She’s almost sixteen
That virgin flower must be warmed with heat of love.
Young pretty doll
Doesn’t know the human being
She is the dove in barbed wire of war.
Her naked flesh
Her trembling body
And freezing cold like fire burns her bones
Her tied and wet
Arms become black and icy
Mind fades away. The nightmare’s end has come.

They’re always watching
They’re always making notes
After injection his health is getting worse
He’s beg for help
His fate is foreclose
He’s slowly dying and they’re waiting for his corpse.